


Flashbacks of the past

by alexisriversong



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, POV John Watson, PTSD John, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 10:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12455436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexisriversong/pseuds/alexisriversong
Summary: Since he had met Sherlock, the attacks had almost disappeared. His leg didn’t bother him anymore and only the pain to the shoulder had kept bothering him sometimes. But sometimes, when the detective was in one of his bad moods and made him really angry, the nightmares came back.





	Flashbacks of the past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luckybarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckybarton/gifts).



> Comment: I hope you enjoy the gift!
> 
> Written for: SHERLOCK HALLOWEEN EXCHANGE  
> Prompt:  
> DNW: Genderswap, Major Character Death, ABO, graphic descriptions of blood/blood loss, sex.  
> Also don't want the trope where love is the magical cure to the character's problems.  
> Basically what I'd like to see is something involving one of the listed ships where one of the characters in it besides Sherlock, if he's in that ship has major issues they hide-something along the lines of depression, panic attacks, or another mental health issue-from the other person in the relationship, who finds out when it's triggered by something at a halloween party.  
> I'm open to art and fic! In either case, it's okay to spin away from the prompt as long as the main themes are left intact.

Since he had met Sherlock, the attacks had almost disappeared. His leg didn’t bother him anymore and only the pain to the shoulder had kept bothering him sometimes. But sometimes, when the detective was in one of his bad moods and made him really angry, the nightmares came back.

Gunshots, detritus flying around, hisses and shouts of pain, his companions, his friend were suffering’. He had to get to them, he was the medic, he had to save them. He knelt down to a soldier and bandaged his leg quickly, gesturing for another soldier to help him reach the medical tent.

He immediately went to the next wounded soldier, holding in shock what was left of his right arm. He gave him orders to go to the tent, he knew, even in such shock, the soldiers were trained to do as ordered. He moved to the next and the next, apparently endless soldiers dying under the Afghan  Sun.

And then, the noise, so close to him, the gunshot, the bullet flying unseen in his direction, the pain to his shoulder, then nothing. He always woke up crying then. Silent, not wanting to worry Sherlock.

The detective thought he was healed, he didn’t know how much it kept bothering him. He flinched at loud noises at first, but then he got used to it. Sherlock always made noise of some kind. His experiments sometimes ended with explosions that triggered his PTSD. He never let him see though.

It had been a stupid idea. Why were they at the stupid party? Halloween was not a British festivity. John wasn’t very fond of the holiday, too many children dressed up. His mind kept telling him not to trust anyone, who knew what they were hiding under their masks after all?

The worst thing were not the children though, but the adults. They were the real menace.

He had never been to an Halloween party. He had never dressed up himself. Sherlock had weirdly insisted, saying it would be fun. Apparently there was some kind of crime they were going to solve. Someone had been killed to stop the party from happening or something like that. He suspected the killer would strike again.

Sherlock was dressed as a vampire, fake fangs and fake blood dripping from his mouth. He was really credible.  Instead of his usual coat, he had a black cape lined in red over his shoulders, stand up collar showing off his cheekbones and the white of his skin. Under the cape, he was wearing an old fashioned suit, with a Victorian style cravat around his neck.

He looked really handsome. Greg was also there as security and John had to really suppress his laughter when he noticed the old fashioned bobby outfit he was wearing as a disguise. A detective disguised as a normal police man was kind of funny.

It didn’t help his worry though. Everyone wearing a mask was a potential treat, only those showing their real faces were not really considered dangerous.

There were a couple of Frankenstein monsters, some ghosts, some wizards and witches. A couple of people were dressed as clowns, and a woman was dressed like the child from the Exorcist. What made him freeze though, were a small group of men, six or seven, dressed as soldiers, the fake blood they had used to fake injuries was really realistic.

Before he knew what was happening, there was a gunshot and memory of the pain in his shoulder made him hide for cover. Everyone was shouting and screaming, Sherlock and Greg had disappeared somewhere. He was alone, flashbacks of the Afghani desert, the screams, the cries, memories highlighted by the presence of those men, the ones dressed like wounded soldiers.

He had no idea of what was happening around him. He crawled to a corner and tried to breathe through the panic attack, tried to close his eyes and his ears. He couldn’t listen to the screams. His mind was blank. Once, before war messed him up, he would have been trying to help, but now…

John was frozen in place, huddled in a corner, knees to his chest, hands over his ears, eyes closed, head looking down. He remembered the pain to his shoulder, the bullet, his men’s screams, not being able to help them, to do his own job. He had lost them, had lost so much. He could feel the heat on his skin.

“JOHN! JOHN!” someone was calling him, wanting his attention. He couldn’t look up. He felt someone’s touch and reacted. His mind was screaming he was in danger, he had to protect himself.

He pinned the other man down, growling like an animal, someone kept calling his name. The voice was familiar, like the body under his. The man tried to move and John had him in a headlock in no time.

“JOHN!” shouted another familiar voice, the man he was fighting kept trying to call him back to reason as did the other voice.

“John… please, calm down, you are safe, everyone is safe, let Sherlock go. He is your friend. No one wants to hurt you”

Short sentences, clear and concise. They got to him and he recognized the familiar curls of his flat mate and friend.

“Sherlock” he immediately let him go. Sherlock gasped in a heaving breath and coughed a bit. John was on his knees now, looking around, trying to get his bearings.

The detective turned around to look at him, he was frowning, worried. John was shaking now, coming down from the panic attack. He hugged himself, trying to calm himself down. Sherlock unexpectedly hugged him and John could do nothing more than cling to him like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, so sorry” he kept repeating over and over.

“You are here John, in London, that’s the past, you don’t have to remember it, it’s not happening, not going to happen again. You are safe John, you are okay” said Sherlock in his ear while patting his shoulder. It was a little awkward but it was working.

John’s breathing slowed down and his heartbeat went back to normal levels. He realized his face was damp with tears and hid it on Sherlock’s shoulder. The detective had removed his cape and John had access to his neck. He hid his face in the crook of his neck and inhaled his safe smell.

There was no gunpowder smell on Sherlock, only the usual mix of chemicals and a faint trace of cigarette smoke.

“Have you been smoking again?” he asked interrupting Sherlock’s stream of reassuring words. The detective blushed and looked away. John groaned. He was back in the present now, Sherlock’s presence had grounded him.

“I don’t even care Sherlock… what happened?”

“You had a panic attack”

John rolled his eyes at the answer. “The gunshot you idiot! I know I had a panic attack!”

“Oh. The criminal shot at the premeditated victim and we caught him”

“What? Someone got shot? Is he ok?”

“Yes, John. He was wearing a bullet proof vest, remember? It was part of his costume”

“Oh right, so everything went as planned right? Bad guy in custody, party saved?” 

“Well… most of the people thought it was some kind of gig for the party so… yes, everything okay”

Greg came back with a glass of water for John. The doctor gratefully took it and smiled at the detective.

“What happened John?” asked Lestrade looking at him, still worried.

John was getting embarrassed about his reaction to the gunshot.

“Well… Those guys dressed as soldiers and the gunshot… plus I don’t really like Halloween. My… uhm… trust issues… people wearing masks…”

Sherlock squeezed his shoulder and stood up, he seemed to understand. Greg was looking at him with sympathy though. He was going to get mad, not wanting anyone’s pity when Sherlock’s hand entered his range of vision. He looked up at his friend, he was holding his hand to him.

“Let’s get home John” he didn’t sound bothered, he had no pity for him, he was just Sherlock, the usual Sherlock, even if he was still wearing fake vampire teeth. As soon as John got up, Sherlock begun talking a mile per minute like usual and that made John smile. Still the usual Sherlock.

He may have problems, those were not going to go away, but Sherlock would always be there for him, no matter what. He was going to keep being himself, just the way John loved him to be.

The difference while they left the party, was that Sherlock held his hand, like it was nothing, like they did it all the time. It was reassuring in his way and John knew he was going to be okay for now. At least until Sherlock’s next experiment gone wrong or the next Halloween, even the next case.

But if Sherlock was going to keep calming him like today, he was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are love <3 Thanks for reading!


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